


Lead Me Wild to Your Dark Roads

by MeganWrites



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Mentions of Violence, mentions of abuse, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 05:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2954189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeganWrites/pseuds/MeganWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian’s leg is tapping as he sits, his eyes moving and scanning all the ads, barely pausing to actually read any. It’s like he can’t sit still anymore, always has to be constantly moving or doing something. Mickey’s noticed that it’s one of the new little quirks that Ian’s picked up while being away. He laughs louder these days, writes pages and pages of his thoughts, and never seems to sleep for longer than three hours a night.</p><p>And he tries to slice people’s throats now, apparently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lead Me Wild to Your Dark Roads

**Author's Note:**

> This started out angsty and then just turned schmoopy as fuck. Literally wrote this because I was wondering why Mickey was sleeping in Ian's bed at the start of 4x11. Timeline is probably wrong since I think there's a day or two between 4x10 and 4x11 but meeeeh. I'm taking some liberty's with this. Once again, my editing is crap so bear with me. Title is from Headlights on a Dark Road by Snow Patrol.

It’s late and they’re all tired, so the trip back to the Gallagher’s house is mostly quiet.

Ian has his arm around Debbie’s shoulders, she’s resting her head against his chest and sleeping. Carl is on his other side, arms crossed and chin rested against his chest, bobbing along with the movements of the El. It’s moments like these that Mickey’s reminded of the stark contrast between his family and Ian’s. Mickey frowns and shakes the thought from his head, he doesn’t like thinking about his family these days, can’t stop himself from thinking about the unfortunate new additions.

Ian’s leg is tapping as he sits, his eyes moving and scanning all the ads, barely pausing to actually read any. It’s like he can’t sit still anymore, always has to be constantly moving or doing something. Mickey’s noticed that it’s one of the new little quirks that Ian’s picked up while being away. He laughs louder these days, writes pages and pages of his thoughts, and never seems to sleep for longer than three hours a night.

And he tries to slice people’s throats now, apparently.

Ian shakes Debbie and Carl awake as they approach their stop, offers Mickey a tight smile and leads everyone out into the cold. Debbie and Carl start chatting sleepily about Frank and Fiona, Mickey doesn’t pay much attention though. He walks behind the three siblings in silence, too caught up in his own worries and thoughts.

They reach the house and each stumble through the door. Debbie and Carl both make their way upstairs to their rooms, barely calling out goodnight as they leave. Mickey’s ready to follow and crash, he really needs to fucking sleep – let a good night’s rest sort out his thoughts, maybe quell some of his fears. Except Ian doesn’t go upstairs, instead he makes his way to the kitchen and grabs a beer – as if it’s not three in the fucking morning.

“He’s like a fucking cat with nine lives,” Ian says as he takes a sip.

Mickey snorts and pads into the kitchen behind Ian. “If your dad’s only almost died nine times or less, color me fuckin’ surprised.”

Ian laughs, it’s one of those too loud laughs that Mickey still hasn’t gotten used to. Mickey leans against the doorframe watching as Ian sips at his beer and paces in a short line by the counter and table. Always fucking moving these days.

“Hey, you okay, man?” Mickey asks, he tries to keep his tone casual but he’s sure it comes off as desperate as he feels.

Ian nods slowly, “I was never that worried about Frank,” he says, “If he died it’d probably solve a lot of problems, actually. I was worried about Fiona for a bit, but she knows how to take care of herself and Lip found her so I think she’ll be okay.” Ian puts the beer bottle onto the counter and walks over to Mickey with a sly grin, resting his hands on Mickey’s waist. “Why? You worried about me, Mick?”

Mickey knows Ian’s teasing him, the mood is light and it would be so easy to just go along with it, he could probably get a quick blowjob out of Ian too. Except he hasn’t stopped being scared since that afternoon and he can’t help himself.

“Maybe.”

Ian’s face softens and his eyes widen, it reminds Mickey of when he and Ian first started fooling around. He seems so much older now, they both are. Mickey misses the simplicity of it all back then. It takes every ounce of Mickey’s willpower not to kiss him, wrap his arms around him and pretend they are still just two dumb kids fooling around in the back of a store.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Ian says, “I can take care of myself, I promise.”

Mickey’s not sure that he can though. Because Ian taking care of himself led him to abandoning his lifelong dream, living in a crack house, becoming a half-naked dancer in a sleazy club, being preyed on by all the old perverts of the world, and putting a knife to Kenyatta’s throat.

“Look, I know I got a little stressed about Fiona, but that was it.”

“It’s not about Fiona,” Mickey whispers.

“Mickey,” Ian puts a hand on his cheek and draws his attention back to Ian’s big eyes. “The thing with Kenyatta: not even a thing. I wasn’t going to do anything, I wouldn’t do that. All I wanted was to scare him a bit, I swear it. He hurt Mandy, Mick, I was just trying to get him away from Mandy.”

The more Ian talks, the more it’s starting to sound like excuses - the kind his mom used to use when she was in denial about what a black eye from Terry meant.

“The knife wasn’t even that close,” Ian explains and smiles, “I knew what I was doing. I took ROTC, remember? I know how to use a knife.”

Mickey wants to believe him, he really does, but Ian’s lying. Maybe Ian has a million new quirks that Mickey’s still trying to learn, but he knows Ian better than he knows himself. He can see the shift in his eyes, his smiles just a bit too big, and his words are too forceful.

It’s probably really fucked up but Mickey feels the slightest bit comforted, because Ian’s worried too.

“I’ve never seen you pull shit like that before, Ian,” Mickey explains quietly, still nervous to what reaction his words might spur. “You can’t do stuff like that.”

Ian snorts and steps back, crossing his arms. Mickey steels himself for this new, bitter and defiant side of Ian that’s been coming up more and more often. “Oh, so I pull a knife on the guy who beat the shit out of _your sister_ and it’s too far, but you going to get a gun to shoot Kev is okay?”

Mickey closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You knew I wasn’t going to fucking shoot him.”

“And you knew I wasn’t going to cut his throat.”

“I didn’t!” Mickey snaps loudly, looking back up at Ian.

Ian’s smug face drops, “Mick”-

“No, fuck, just…” Mickey’s words taper off as he turns away from Ian and walks over to the counter, running a hand through his greasy hair before dropping both hands to the edge of the counter and gripping it tightly. He needs something tangible, something solid, and the shitty counter in the Gallagher’s kitchen seems to be the closest he can get these days.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Ian says softly, “Mickey, I’m okay.”

Mickey feels Ian’s knuckles hesitantly brushing against his arm. Mickey closes his eyes, remembers the one and only night Ian stayed over at his house; stripped of clothing and waking up as the sun was rising to Ian’s fingertips tracing lines and patterns over his skin. When he’d opened his eyes and saw Ian watching him he had sworn there would never be a better way to wake up.

Ian circles around until he’s at Mickey’s side, reaches out to put a hand over Mickey’s and gently pull it away from the counter. He’s got the soft look again, one of the few looks that doesn’t worry Mickey these days. Ian puts his free arm across Mickey’s shoulders and pulls him into a strange sideways hug, holding him tightly until Mickey falls into it. He buries his face in Ian’s neck and let’s himself be enveloped by Ian’s warm arms.

“I’m sorry,” Ian whispers, pressing gentle kisses to the top of Mickey’s head. “I’m okay, I promise, I’m okay.”

It’s a lie. Ian’s not okay, Mickey knows he’s not okay, he just doesn’t know why. If its drugs, he’s hiding his stash well, not mention Mickey’s not sure when he’d have time to take a hit without Mickey noticing. It’s not often they go too long without each other these days.

Honestly, Mickey’s baffled and he’s really fucking scared.

You can’t fight what you don’t know (or, at least, not successfully).

Ian pulls away from Mickey but keeps a tight hold on his hand, tugging at it as he steps away. “Come on,” he murmurs and makes his way to the stairs, Mickey obediently trailing behind like a dog on a leash.

They reach the boys bedroom at the end of the hall, Carl’s already on the top bunk sleeping soundly. Ian drops Mickey’s hand to tug off his shirt and jeans before sliding into his bed and under the covers. Mickey follows his lead, exhausted and just desperate to let his mind relax for a moment. He pulls off his jeans and makes to settle in his cocoon of blankets and pillows on the floor before Ian grabs his wrist.

“Sleep with me,” Ian says softly, rubbing his thumb in circles over Mickey’s skin. “Please?”

Mickey can’t stop himself from looking around the room, he can see the sliver of disappointment in Ian’s eyes but Mickey just can’t fucking help it. He wants to be the kind of guy that isn’t scared or hiding – the kind of guy Ian deserves – but he can’t be that guy. He isn’t that guy.

The Gallagher house is safe though, it isn’t his house. They accept Ian for who he is, which means they probably wouldn’t give a shit if they found out about Mickey either. Though honestly, he’s sure that if Ian’s family doesn’t already know what’s going on between them then they’re just fucking stupid. Finally he settles his eyes back on Ian and nods, climbing into the tiny bed beside him and feeling slightly comforted that at least Carl is asleep already. He’s not sure he could do this with an audience.

Ian wraps his arms back around Mickey, pulling him close and pressing his face to Mickey’s neck as he breathes in. Mickey falls into it, kind of like the hug from earlier, let’s himself be held and comforted. He loosely drapes an arm around Ian’s waist and slides the other under his neck.

Ian shifts until their foreheads are pressed together and starts tracing patterns under Mickey’s shirt and on his bare back, traveling all over and along his exposed skin soothingly. Mickey thinks of the perfect night with Ian, no one in the world could make him feel as safe and loved as Ian Gallagher did – still does. Mickey opens his eyes and is greeted by Ian’s large, green ones staring back. It’s like he’s gone back in time and all the shit from the past year fades completely away, because Ian is here in his arms and looking at Mickey like there’s nothing else worth looking at.

And suddenly he’s so certain that no matter what is happening to Ian, he’ll make it okay. Whatever Ian’s dealing with, he’ll fix it or fight it or kill it. There isn’t a thing in the world that Mickey wouldn’t do to keep Ian safe, to make sure that he can wake up in Mickey’s arms feeling just as safe and loved as Mickey did.

Mickey kisses Ian, lips moving together soft and slowly until Mickey draws back. Their eyes meet again, and fuck, Mickey could stare at him forever. Instead he smiles, pulls Ian’s body in close to his, and closes his eyes.

Ian’s steady breathing is the only lullaby Mickey needs.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr :)](http://meganwwrites.tumblr.com)


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